


Family Dinner

by peoriapeoria



Category: Slings & Arrows, due South
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-30
Updated: 2011-03-30
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:32:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peoriapeoria/pseuds/peoriapeoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellen contemplates family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Dinner

She, Geoffrey's cousin's wife (that's how Ellen understood her to be) was, Ellen supposed, handsome enough. No, that was unkind. Cousin's wife was handsome, and not in the damning way of 'nice personality'.

She needed a helmet and a shield, the Wife. Probably could lay a keel. Handsome was a good descriptor, for a woman nearly as big as a man. Bigger than some men, really, the Cousin's wife. Tall, tall was good. She probably shouldered Christmas trees.

Ellen kept looking between the Wife and Geoffrey, because she couldn't look directly at Cousin. He did have a name of course, it should be memorable. He looked so much like Geoffrey, then, just older. Settled. Domesticated.

"That's when his shaving kit had to be designated as a diplomatic pouch."

Ellen smiled, looking at Geoffrey who was laughing at the story Ellen hadn't heard a word of. Registered. The wife's diction was fine. There was something about the modulation. It'd come to her later if it was important.

Not that that was likely. Cousin and his Wife lived improbably enough in Chicago. Not that Chicago was improbable, unlike identical cousins; Cousin was a Mountie, in Chicago. Was there such a thing as a family's white sheep? Corporal Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police (she knew it'd come to her) would have to be that. His wife could spin directly from his fleece.

Ellen banished from her mind all she'd involuntarily learned of livestock. Oliver's faux sheep smelled better than the real thing, mothballs and all. Chicago, RCMP. "'It's a story that takes two hours to tell, how he ended up there.'" The cousin had smiled at his wife, and that intimated a much longer story, one worthy of Elizabeth Taylor eyes.

Perhaps not such a white sheep. Ellen drowned the thought of shepherdesses in red wine. Thoughts of cousins into a wine dark sea Ellen dashed. Menopause. Ellen wasn't like that, anymore.

"We should collect the children from Ms Conroy," Cousin spake unto his Wife.

"Of course." Ellen gestured for the garçon and brandished her credit card, quelling any demurs with an arched brow. Tomorrow, Ellen would learn with what wholesome entertainments they had wiled away the evening.

Ellen had such wicked plans for her husband.


End file.
